Dickery.

I just said last night that I do not tolerate dickery towards me, but I feel like I have been experiencing on onlslaught of dickery lately that I really can't do anything about due to my position as "peon."

Having yet another potluck, this one marking the end of summer or something, and I hadn't bothered to sign up for it, becuase I always end up sitting at a table by myself picking pubic hairs out of the chili.

So this person in a position of power — I'll call them Tomato Dick — approached me in my cubicle and backed me up against my monitor.

"I see you aren't signed up for anything."

I squirmed. "What do you need?"

"3 large tomatoes."

I thought it strange Tomato Dick was so specifc about the quantity and size of the tomatoes, and had a sudden flash of the 36 pieces of flare conversation in Office Space.

Fast forward to the next day, half hour before the potluck. I'm standing at the sink fumbling around with the tomatoes in attempt to slice them. I'm not good at vegetables, so I enlist the help of Barb when I see her come to the fridge for her lettuce.

Barb and I proceed to rip lettuce apart and slice tomatoes together when Tomato Dick approaches for seemingly no reason.

"Hi," I say to Tomato Dick, who simply glowers at me like I am a rotting carcass in the local river.

"I'm surprised we're doing this on state time. I would've thought this could be done last night."

I think I made a WTF face at Tomato Dick, I can't properly remember. I do know I nearly cut my finger in the process of being really outraged by this outright display of dickery and infected everybody with Mono or whatever it is I have that sucks the life out of me (besides the obvious Tomato Dick).

Tomato dick wandered off and Barb and I said WTF amongst ourselves. I then made it a point to heap burgers in a pile on my plate to take back to Jesus Guy, who had refused to bring onions.